tagGay MaleTurning the Clock Back

Turning the Clock Back

byzaphod40©

Several months after I had parted from Jeff and a few weeks after my experience with Lionel (recounted in Chapter 15) three things happened virtually simultaneously. Firstly my wife, in a regular phone call with our daughter, told her that her lover was ill and being taken to hospital. I was not sorry for him, indeed I hoped that he would soon be dead, but I was sorry to think of the anxiety it would cause her. The second thing that happened gave me a shock. Chris's wife had set off to see her mum with Amy and I had arrived at his home and was sitting down at the table in his kitchen, drinking a cup of coffee before we repaired to the bedroom, when her car drew up outside the house and Amy came flying into the room. She had left behind a present she had bought for her grandmother and her mother had been forced to turn round and go back to get it. Maybe it was just as well that her mother had stayed in the car with the engine running. She said "Hello, who are you?" to me and I stumbled into the excuse Chris and I had prepared to cope with such an emergency.

"I've lost my dog," I said. "Have you seen him? He's a black and white terrier and answers to the name of Jim."

She shook her head, said "Hope you find him" and bounded out of the house.

Unfortunately that used up our excuse and we couldn't use it again nor could we risk Amy finding us on a further occasion. It was lucky she hadn't come back ten minutes later! We agreed, therefore, not to meet again for a bit.

The third thing that happened - and this made me very excited - was that after about thirty years I was going to meet Steve.

I had several times had the idea of meeting him again but as I had only an out-of-date address for him my letter had been returned "Gone away". Then I remembered that the school we had gone to might have his up-to-date one. It didn't, but it did have the e-mail address of one of his sons, who gave me his father's e-mail address. I wrote; and in due course received a reply, ending with the words "Keep in touch."

Now "touching" was something I definitely had in mind, though whether or not he did was a question I needed to resolve. When we were 18 and in our last year at school he had been uninhibited about sex, whacking off in the toilets during the morning break and revelling in my wanking him before we went up to our dormitories at night. I've never forgotten his thick dick with its foreskin so tight that it didn't retract at all. It left a hole just sufficient for him to pee without difficulty and to shoot a tremendous wad when he reached orgasm. His load was fantastic - each spurt of sperm was equal to some men's full output – and he spurted five or six times. Underneath that tight foreskin was a glans which he'd never seen but which was of imposing size and shape. Also I'd never forgotten that when he was about to shoot, his dick stiffened even further, bending slightly into a banana curve and lifting a little as it reared to ejaculation. It was wonderful to see and over the thirty years since I had last seen him I had often jacked off thinking about it.

Now I was going to see him again – and I was nervous and excited. An aunt of mine had died and the funeral was fixed on a Saturday about two hundred miles south of where I live. I wanted to support her family, but my daughter was reluctant to come all that way for relatives she had hardly ever seen. And Steve and his wife lived not far from where the funeral was taking place. I therefore phoned him and he invited me to stay on the Friday evening.

The day was sunny and warm as I drove south and I got to his house at about 6.00 pm. It was a three bedroomed, detached house in a small village with a large garden. Steve was in the garden when I arrived and came forward to greet me. He was immediately recognizable, though his hair had gone grey and he had lost the "puppy fat" I remembered him as having. He looked fit and well as he shook my hand, without any trace of consciousness for what had happened last time we met. He took me indoors to meet his wife, Anne. She was easy to talk with, pleasant and took pride in her home. She smiled and made me welcome, showed me to my room and invited me for an aperitif in the garden when I had freshened up from the journey. My window looked due west over the garden and I could see Steve and Anne carrying drinks out to a table and some chairs set out on the lawn. I went down to join them and we started to chat. Steve told me that he was Managing Director of an Engineering firm with premises near the local town; and Anne told me about their two boys who were now grown up and had left home. They had moved to their new house a few years ago when the younger boy left home and were happily settled. In fact it was a picture of contentment in middle age! I wondered whether Steve even remembered that we had been sexually intimate at school.

Anne soon left us to prepare the evening meal and I told Steve about myself, my job and my family. We had much to talk about. He said we might walk down to the village pub after the meal and just then Anne called us in to eat. It was a cheerful occasion with a good bottle of red wine which I had brought as a present and at the end of it we had liqueurs and coffee in the sitting-room, reclining in deeply comfortable arm chairs. Steve then looked at his watch and said "Time to go to the pub" and as Anne said the washing up would be done in the dishwasher, we set off at a leisurely pace, giving me time to admire the village as we did so. I also needed to think. Steve seemed different – much more in command of himself (as befits an MD) than he had been at school. I wondered whether he ever remembered his past. How was I going to introduce the subject in the pub?

When we got there the pub was all that an olde worlde English pub should be, with low beams, small rooms and a welcoming landlord. We ordered our beers and found a non-smoking room with a corner seat where we settled in round a table. We made small talk for the first pint, but when Steve bought the second round, what with the aperitif, the wine, the liqueurs and the two beers, we were shedding our inhibitions and Steve was less the successful business man and more like the boy I had known at school. I asked him whether he had a good sex life, and he laughed and said "OK". Then, because I knew he had sent his boys to our old boarding school, I asked him if he hadn't been worried that they might get up to the kind of activities that we had done. He thought for a moment and said "Well it didn't do us much harm, did it?" I said "No – it was fun" and he agreed. Then I asked him whether he had any regrets and he shook his head and said "None at all."

We were getting warm! He said "Do you have any regrets?" and I paused and said "Well, if I do, it's that we didn't do it enough." He seemed surprised at this and said "Well, we were always knocking about together, if you see what I mean," to which I rejoined "Can you ever do it enough when you're young?"

He laughed and said "Can you ever do it enough when you're older!"

I laughed too and asked him if he remembered how I had arrived at his home on my motorbike after we had both left school and we had gone out into the fields round his house with a gun to shoot crows but had ended up nearly shooting something else instead.

"Yes," he said, "I remember pulling your dick out and how we agreed not to cum there and then but to leave it 'til we could get together in bed."

"And I remember the creaking of the floorboards as you came along the passage to join me that night. And, do you know, I always regretted that we didn't cum as well, earlier, in that field. That's what I mean about not doing it enough when we were young."

"I regretted it afterwards too," he said. "You should always make the most of your opportunities."

He looked at me thoughtfully and I noticed that as he started remembering, his hand was straying into his trouser pocket in an effort to control the rising excitement there. I was having the same feeling! Now was the time to strike. I said "Have you ever thought of turning the clock back – seeing how we are after more than thirty years ……?"

"Turning the clock back?" he reiterated. Then – suddenly quite fiercely – "Look, lets get back home. Drink your beer up!"

I was shocked. "Are you throwing me out?" I stammered. "No, silly" he said, "If we're going to turn the clock back, we'd better get back home. Anne has a Parish Council meeting on Friday evenings. That's why we had an early meal. She usually gets back about ten thirty and it's after eight now."

We walked back much more urgently than we had left his house and we kept our hands deep in our pockets all the way. When we got there we went straight up to my bedroom. The evening sun was flooding in through the window and I stood on one side of the bed and Steve on the other. When he took his hand out of his pocket to start undressing I saw the bulge that his dick made in his trousers. I was taking off my pullover and shirt when Steve remembered that we had nothing to mop up with and dashed down to the kitchen to get some absorbent kitchen paper. Meanwhile I continued to undress. I lay on the bed with just my underpants on and when he came back I was gently fondling the bulge in them. His eyes lit up and he tore off his shoes, socks and trousers and lay down on the bed next to me with just his underpants on. I placed my hand on his chest and gently caressed him, moving slowly from one nipple to the other and feeling them harden beneath my fingers. Then down to his navel and the slow insertion of a finger under the elastic of his shorts. I could both sense and see that he was hugely excited and with a quick movement he brought his hands down to his underpants and almost tore them off. And there it was – the great dick I had been dreaming about ever since I had fixed up this trip to see him.

And I got the shock of my life. When we had wanked each other before, his foreskin had been so tight that he couldn't retract it. Now he was circumcised!

"Hey, Steve, you've been cut," I said in amazement.

"Yes, I was advised to have it done before I got married. I've got used to it now."

It was not so much pretty as imposing and powerful. It didn't stand straight up at 90 degrees from his body but lay along the line of his stomach so that it fired directly towards his navel. It was only moderate in length but its bulbous head, no longer shrouded by its foreskin, was magnificent. His shaft was not round in profile all the way down. The side that is underneath when limp and visible when erect, was flattened in the middle where his fingers were used to wrapping round it during a wank, and the "spunking tube" which carries the sperm up the tube to be ejaculated at the top, stood proudly out in a line along the middle. It was its girth which was so impressive – it was massively wide at the bottom, only tapering a little towards the top, with no hint, yet, of the banana effect which occurred at orgasm. This bending would bring it even more in line, I remembered, with his navel, further assisting the pooling of his spunk on his stomach.

"Who'll go first?" he asked, lying on his back and gently caressing his dick. I had to think for a moment. Because his foreskin had been so tight I knew he liked to be wanked well away from the glans, low down on the shaft. I always retract my foreskin and massage my glans to achieve orgasm when I masturbate, so I felt uncomfortable with his method. Jacking had always been quite a rough and ready affair with Steve, whereas I am more gentle with myself, perhaps because my dick is more sensitive than his. So I said "You first." He was happy with this and lay back on the bed, putting his hands behind his head and waiting for me to take that wonderful thick dick into my fist. I wasted no time and as I enclosed it low down on the shaft he gave a sigh of satisfaction. I glanced up at his face and saw him smile as if to say "Go ahead, this is how I like it."

I began slowly at first. His magnificent balls were still quite slack in their sac and I knew I would have to set a quicker rhythm before he would cum. I ran my hand lightly up to the huge dickhead and he brought one of his hands down to guide mine back to where he liked it. Gradually I picked up the rhythm and, glancing up at his face, I saw that he was lying with his eyes closed and enjoying every sensation of my flying hand. Looking down I saw that his balls were beginning to tighten and creep up to the base of his shaft. For a moment I stopped wanking him and cupped his balls with my hand. This made him gasp with pleasure and I knew he was quite close, so I went back to stroking him, grasping the loose skin on his shaft firmly and upping the speed. Now I knew he was very close because his dick started to lift and to arch. And then the great gun fired : bang! – splashing right onto the skin just below the navel; bang – another hit; bang! – a third hit; bang! – a fourth. The fifth ejaculation dropped a shade short and the sixth dribbled out and matted his pubic hair. Thinking it was over I stopped stroking and he seized his dick in his own hand and went on pumping up and down. No further spunk came out but he was in an ecstasy of spasms and I was amazed at the show he had put on. Gradually his hand stopped moving, the great gun lost its rigidity and started to go limp.

He opened his eyes and said "That was fantastic." Then, after a pause, "Hand me the paper towels I put on the chair – I don't want to spill anything on the bed before I clean up." And I looked at the lake of spunk lying just below his navel and I could see what he meant. It glistened in the dying light from the window, seeming to have a life of its own. I handed him two paper towels and he sat up carefully so as to spill none of it on the cover of the bed and mopped it all up. I was sorry to see it go especially as he now got to his feet and went to the bathroom to flush the sticky paper down the loo. However he was soon back in the room where he found me gently toying with my dick, my foreskin rolled back and my pre-cum-covered glans exposed to view. He lay down beside me, put his arm round my chest and then gently kissed my nipples before working his way down my chest with his lips. I was surprised and delighted. Slowly he traversed my stomach, then brought his hand round to my super-stiff dick and grasped it at the base while his lips closed over its exposed head. It was heaven! Where had he learned such erotic delicacy, I wondered? Slowly he began to move his lips up and down my glans, all shiny and slippery with pre-cum, while holding on to my shaft with his hand. I placed my hands on his hair and helped him to establish the rhythm I like best. I knew I couldn't hold out long and feeling that ejaculation was imminent, I said "Steve, I'm going to cum." He took no notice and went on caressing my dickhead with his lips. I was so excited that there was no way I could hold back and I shot wildly into his mouth and went on and on ejaculating. He took it all in his mouth and then, when I had relaxed, he sat up and swallowed it.

"I enjoyed that," he said, licking his lips. I didn't know what to say except "I did too." It was the first time I had ever cum inside another man's mouth.

After this intense excitement we got up and went to the bathroom to wash. Then we got dressed and went downstairs. We were at ease with each other now and Steve offered me a whisky and we sat drinking it and talking about our school days until Anne came in soon after ten o'clock, annoyed with the way the Parish Council Meeting had been conducted. I talked with her about this, wondering what it was that drove respectable ladies to spend hours deciding such trivial matters. Then we all went to bed. Once there I reviewed the day's events in my mind, became very excited thinking about what had happened and masturbated long and gently, remembering the feel of Steve's thick dick in my hand, the volume of his spunk as it splashed onto his stomach and the feel of his lips on my knob. When eventually I came, the spasms were ecstatic and I went to sleep almost at once and slept long and well.

The next morning we all met for a late breakfast and Steve asked me if I would like to see his factory. As the funeral was not until 2.30 in the afternoon he suggested we drive in two cars and I could go on from there. I agreed, thanked Anne for her hospitality and we set off, Steve leading in his BMW. After about twenty minutes of country roads we approached a town and turned into a small modern industrial estate. His factory was at the end. There were no other cars on the forecourt when we pulled up and I remembered that this was because it was Saturday. He let us in by the use of several keys, turning off the security alarm when we were inside. The premises were spacious, with lathes and milling machines in neat rows with colourful metal spoil baskets neatly stacked near each machine. We inspected them together and I was impressed. His office was at the back of the building on a mezzanine floor, approached by a flight of steps. Its large window gave a panoramic view of the work-place so Steve could see at a glance what was going on from his desk. Chairs without arms were arranged so that they could be pulled up to his desk as needed or placed together to make a small settee. He had his own loo and a small microwave and fridge and he offered me a coffee. As he was making it the phone rang, sounding hollow and incongruous in that empty building. I gathered from his conversation that it was the industrial estate's security service phoning to check who it was in the building. He said he had a guest with him and would be about half an hour. When he rang off he confirmed what I thought, saying that we would be left alone now.

I sat down on one of the chairs to drink my coffee, Steve sat at his desk and we talked about our surprise at what had happened the evening before. I told him how nervous I had been about meeting him again after thirty years, how I had wanted it to happen but how doubtful I had been that it would. He said he had felt just the same and hadn't had any idea how to introduce the subject. He had been pleased when I had taken the initiative in the pub. I asked him where he had learned to suck so expertly and he shrugged his shoulders and said simply "Maybe before I got married." I then asked him whether he had had any sex with men during his married life and he said "Well, it's a long story. Maybe I'll tell you one day." And he wouldn't be drawn further.

When we had finished our coffees Steve came over to collect my mug, put it down on his desk and then turned round to sit beside me. It seemed natural that he should put his hand on my knee. I felt the thrill and tingle of anticipation in my balls and my dick stiffened with a speed I had hardly known since I was an adolescent. Seeing the growing tent in my trousers, Steve moved his hand up my thigh and fondled my dick through the cloth, then bent over and began to undo my belt. I could see that he was similarly excited. After my belt he undid the top of my trousers and then slid the zip down. Reaching into my underpants he released my dick and it sprang into view. "Long as my arm" he said quietly, remembering the occasion all those years ago when we were 19. I was mindful that this was my funeral suit and that it might be better to take it off, so I stood up, undressed and hung my jacket, trousers, shirt and tie on a peg on the door.

"You first this time" he said. He had placed three of the chairs together and indicated that was to lie down on them. I did so and he kneeled beside me, taking my dick in his fist and peeling back the foreskin. Because he had never been able do this for himself it had a special fascination for him and he moved it up and down several times. Noticing my pre-cum he said "I never get that. Can I taste it?" And he bent his head forwards and licked the pre-cum off the tip of my dick, giving me a delicious tingle. Then he took my exposed glans into his mouth as he had done the night before and gently teased it with his tongue. Gradually this turned into the up and down motion that excites orgasm and even though I had cum twice in the past fourteen hours, I knew I would cum again, though maybe a touch less quickly than usual. To heighten the sensation, though it was rather an awkward movement for my arm, I asked Steve if I could hold his dick while he worked on me with his mouth. Hardly pausing, he reached down, undid his fly and took out it out. I put out my hand and held it while he fastened his lips round my dick again. Soon I felt the tightening sensation in my balls that precedes orgasm. "Here it cums," I gasped and with a thrust of my hips I emptied myself into his mouth. "Wonderful," I said as the sensations came to an end and after he had swallowed the lot. "Now it's my turn to do you."

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